Her portrait in black
by yume girl 91
Summary: The past was something never to be meddled with. UlquiRuki Au give it a read! COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

~Her portrait in black~

The portrait was remarkably life-like. The eyes staring off into the distance, turned toward the open window where far off a golden sun was lowering in a leaden sky. The lips pursed in a thin line were an amalgam of amusement and detached contempt for the world. The student clasped his hands tighter behind his back, leaning a little closer to the _new exhibit_.

_Her_ hands, folded, lay on the slim leather bound cover of a book; most likely of holy Psalms. The family, to which she had belonged to, had been a rarity among the Noble class in their day: converted hard-line Christians. Wealth, however, hadn't been enough to save them from the tyrant Shogunate's rule. All save for the subject in the painting; the rest had been crucified. Only a bonfire lit by Fudo Myu's sacred torch was good enough for the young novitiate.

_They had burned her at the stake._

Here, the student grimaced. Human beings themselves were what caused such atrocities to happen, based purely on motives of religion. _Fools_, he thought vindictively. _Though it certainly was a pity…for she had been quite beautiful_.

Distantly the Gallery intercom went on, warning patrons of the shortened open hours, reminding him of the essay waiting to be turned in come Monday. With a slight sigh of regret, he glanced one more time to the portrait of her in black. The loose-belled sleeves that tapered above the forearm, the high collar encircling her pale throat, a large Catholic type crucifix was painted in against the base of her neck, gleaming a dulled foil leaf gold.

His attention went to her eyes, lacking expression, empty almost, but then if one looked closer, then one could see the vivid emotions captured with the stroke of an artist's brush. Vivacity in lilac tinged with deep blue, eyes that at once revealed nothing, then expressed firm strength and belief: had she known this very painting would seal her fate as the gold cross boldly worn, declared her to be an infidel living among infidels?

That was all the evidence the presiding Daimyo required to destroy them.

Proof they were practicing Christians.

The student began to walk away, his mind preoccupied with the past and not the present…

~~*~~

A/N: Don't own Bleach. Sorry, I chose to rewrite this under the above title. :) Hope you liked it!


	2. Chapter 2

~Her portrait in black CH.2~

The student turned over in his hasty sleep. The narrow, used couch sagging into its springs was hardly a decent bed. He shifted, mumbling in his dream state, the pen he'd used to scribble out a few paragraphs still lay across the sheets of paper set aside for his essay.

He mumbled again, slipping deeper into sleep.

~~~*~~~

The girl sat before a mirror of wavy, old-fashioned glass. Her long hair was unpinned and hung like a gleaming midnight veil over her shoulders. Her expression discontented, her lips formed a silent moue of apathy. Her Kimono-gown had a plain border edge of pink Sakura blossoms along the bottom hemline and running along the sleeves. The student watched as the girl raised her hand to her face, briefly touching her cheek then sunk it down to her breast, pensive now rather than agitated.

_What was wrong with her?_

The catch at the siding door caught and startled as the girl was, he and she cast curious gazes to the maidservant kneeling in humility to them. "Pardon my interruption, Kuchiki-sama. But Lady Retsu has come-asking specific attendance upon her by you. What say you to this?"

The change in the girl's expression was astonishing. From sullen and disinterested, she had gone to alert and bright-eyed. "Please bring her up directly. That'll be all, Orihime."

The maid spared no glance to the student where he crouched in the corner, indeed because he was not visible to either occupant. Silently the door slid shut with a light snap and presently two pairs of footsteps echoed in the hall. The student cast a curious look, seeing as the young girl fairly flew to embrace the taller, older woman whom entered.

A kindly face, creased early by cares appeared over the smaller shoulder of the girl. "It's good to see you so well, Rukia," the woman held her at arms length to scrutinize her carefully. "And you, auntie," said the girl. Her smile faded a little at the worry present in her elder's eyes.

"What is it? Please! You must tell me! Has something gone wrong—"

"No," Retsu calmed her fears and looked her over once more, "the Father has accepted your wish to enter the sisterhood. Are you sure you really want to do this?" Rukia frowned, then reached inside the neckline of her kimono, withdrawing a long chain attached to which was a plain silver cross.

The student's heart gave a particular leap at the sight of it.

_Was this_…

"Yes. Mother would've wished this." Reverently the girl stroked the dulled metal, her expression somber. Retsu grew pensive; the student looking upon the scene couldn't help but notice the wide pseudo-kimono sleeves and dress styling. _A nun_, he realized with a shock.

_The woman was a nun._

_But Christianity had been outlawed in_ _Japan since…_

_Could it be_?

Retsu laid her hand on the shoulder of her niece, smiling sadly, "if you are so set on this course. Then I will not dissuade you. However, I am afraid your beautiful hair must go."

"Let it be. In fact…Orihime!" Rukia called sotto voce. From behind the door, a hurried scramble came. "Yes, Kuchiki-sama?" the youthful orange-haired girl peered in. Retsu took command, "bring the implements needed for hair-cutting."

"Right away, Lady Retsu."

~~*~~

He watched the girl take her seat in front of the mirror, seeing every stroke fall and curls of raven black hair tumble to the wooden floor. Retsu stood a little to the side, her eyes sorrowful, her hands clasped together. The maid, Orihime was steady with the knife, gathering the thick strands and cutting away until the tips brushed her mistress's shoulders.

"That's enough," Retsu ordered. Orihime halted accordingly, waiting for dismissal. Rukia patted the back of her head, feeling the lack of long tresses. A sigh escaped her lips, then, observing the differences in the reflection that stared back at her, wiped a tiny tear away self-consciously.

"I don't mind—I like it! Really…it's just that…"

The student heard nothing more of the young girl's words. His eyes were fixated on the wavering face reflected in the mirror. He was little surprised to find it the same as the girl in the portrait.

~~*~~

Ulquiorra awoke. In the dim blackness of his studio apartment, he wondered at the verisimilitude of his mind to take the image of the girl foremost in his memory and transfigure her and other people into a situation mirroring their possible reality over a hundred and fifty odd years later.

He had dreamt her living, breathing, speaking as real as any other person even thinking that somewhere in his many readings he'd come across the name of the nun. Retsu. He shook his head in the dark, a deprecatory smile curling his narrow lips.

_He'd have to drop by Ukitake-sensei's office in the morning; just to see if the foremost expert on the doomed long-dead Kuchiki clan could verify a few points from his dream_-if it was just that.

_Ridiculous_, he thought, scowling at the particular sense of feeling he had as he wished it were not. The girl in the painting and the girl in his dream weren't the same.

It was all just a figment of his imagination.

~~~*~~~

AN: well there it is, chapter two. :) How'd you like it? Let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

~Her portrait in black CH.3~

True his imaginings in his dream state had seemed fraught with details he suspected were common to the era in which the girl had lived. But the student's mind as he made his way up the steps to the corner office on the third floor of the University, refused to allow any sort of precognitive or call it what you will, past life recall associated with his dream.

The professor he had in fact called on; was delighted at the mention of the Kuchiki family. The dark-haired man beamed behind round scholarly spectacles. "Ah…so my boy you have discovered an interest in them as well? Splendid. It's quite fascinating the lore surrounding them. After all they were one of the more prominent families in their time."

Ulquiorra listened quietly to the man's speech, only interrupting in the pause that followed a hastily taken swallow of tea. "But what of…" he felt a little odd saying her name aloud, the vision from his dream arrested him and he continued on in more subdued tones, "the last of the family. Rukia the daughter?"

Professor Ukitake bridged his fingers together on the scuffed marble desktop worn by years of book covers flapping down on the cool polished surface. "She was perhaps the most tragic of them. You know it was that painting of her that hangs in the gallery in this campus that sealed her fate?"

He was forced to admit knowing some of their history through local historical guidebooks. The professor nodded sagely, "I suspect much of the truth has been glossed over. You can't believe all that's printed while in later sections they cry praise to the man who destroyed the family, Ichimaru Gin."

_Gin Ichimaru appointed Daimyo of the region by the ancient Tokugawa Shogunate_.

"—Rukia rejected him as a suitor and in re—"

"What about a maid employed in the Kuchiki household-? A girl named—Orihime." Ulquiorra knew he was being rude, interrupting in the middle of the man's history lesson but it paid off. Seeing as the professor seemed taken aback. "Goodness. Are you sure you haven't done more than the casual studying up on them, Schiffer-kun?"

Ulquiorra denied it flatly.

After a few minutes, Ukitake shuffled the papers on his desk distractedly before speaking again, "not many books reference the maidservant to the Kuchiki family, Orihime Inoue. Her existence is pretty much based on a few texts and excerpts from Rukia's letters to her mother's family. What wasn't burned along with their possessions has survived. I don't think I have anything handy right—"

"Her—this girl Orihime—did she have gray eyes and long auburn hair?"

Again he received a peculiar, suspicious look.

"It's not really known. Though one source does give that upon her mistress's condemning, the servant was taken away screaming and tearing at her long red hair as if she were possessed. But how could you—"

He could almost picture the scene. "What happened to her—after…?"

The professor looked sadly across the space of the desk into the student's impassive face, "history doesn't know. She fades out of the story since no one knows where she was taken after that. I've always been one to believe-in fact," ruefully a disorderly sheaf of neatly typed paper was touched upon fondly, "in my upcoming thesis. I was going to place some emphasis on the maid's character…"

"Her loyalty." Ulquiorra almost inaudibly murmured.

"Yes." The professor looked somewhat surprised, "as I was saying. I thoroughly believe she was put to death alongside Rukia Kuchiki. However there is no evidence existing to substantiate that statement."

~*~

He was consumed with the idea or thought that came to him at that moment after the professor's last sentence. It was no dream. It was all very real. That event in the girl's timeline had come to pass however few witnesses there were to it he had been one.

Excusing himself with the vaguest of apologies about something that he had forgotten to accomplish, the student hurriedly left the professor's office in a greatly agitated state. He was being allowed a glimpse into the past. A past in which that girl had no future…_but what was the point of it_? He had to wonder. He already knew in the end what would happen so why?

He had read enough science fiction in his teens to know all about the golden rule of time travel; _nothing must be changed_. He hadn't been seen by any of the women in his dream so to them he was as incorporeal as a shadow on the wall _or less_.

Frustrated beyond hope, the student turned his steps homeward, only stopping at a small bookstore to purchase a new copy of a particular book recounting the early Christians in the area. Upon opening it, seated in his studio apartment, his eye alighted on a phrase printed on the flyleaf.

"Ten ni mashimasu warera no…"

He seemed to hear a woman's voice chanting softly. His gaze fell again onto the page seeing the illumination from the overhead light fade into that of muted daylight and the surroundings waver into that of dark wood panels much stained by water leakage.

He raised his head to stare at the bowed figure seated on her knees before a small altar. Instead of the many-armed Buddha as was expected in a shrine, a serene faced Virgin Mary painted in pale color gazed sadly upon the bent girl whispering over trailing beads.

_A rosary._

She stumbled over the words and stopped, frowning in mute consternation. Ulquiorra glimpsed her profile, recognizing the much-altered appearance of the youthful girl from yesterday. Maturity lined her forehead and gave a stern turn to her pink lips pouting while her fingers passed quickly in count over the tiny polished wood beads.

He heard her muttered repeat of the first four sentences before her voice faded away again.

Disappointed, his ears pricked up as slowly another room came into his vision. Floor cushions were arranged neatly and the girl-Rukia had her hand extended above a small China teapot. She was robed that day in an exquisitely embroidered Kimono of red with designs of gilded cranes adorning it. The boy seated near her could only stare in admiration, as did the student quite _unconsciously_.

"My Lady Aunt tells me that you are…" she paused, appraising the rather shabbily dressed boy with sardonic eyes, "a painter of the Impressionist school? Very unusual for a commoner."

"Y-Yes; Miss. I've studied all manner of European art. I could paint your portrait if you'd like."

Ulquiorra watched the exchange somewhat enviously; knowing neither could see him.

"Oh yes," she politely sipped from her shallow summer cup before continuing, "that's exactly what I was desiring. Of course," she added knowingly, "you'll be paid well if we are pleased with the outcome, Yamada-san."

The painter blushed. The student on the other side of the room seethed but then understood the next scene that melted and formed before his eyes. An empty room, probably one long in disuse put to use again deep within the Kuchiki estate, save for a plain oak chair and posing with her head slightly tilted was Rukia. Her dress had changed once again, it was like that in the painting, her hands were folded upon a book and drawing near, Ulquiorra was amused to find his assumption correct.

It was an ancient Psalter.

The painter stood behind a makeshift easel upon which a plain canvas had been set. Paints and a primitive brush were lax in his hand. The student observed the scene for a moment longer the feeling of still life became prevalent and he bestirred himself to turn to the sliding door wrenched open by frantic hands roughened by work.

"My Lady!" Orihime cried, her voice breaking the unnatural stillness. Rukia accordingly lost her assumed position and turned her attention to her obviously agitated maid. "Yes?"

"Ichimaru-dono is coming! Word is…"

Irritated, Ulquiorra felt the scene slipping away, his curiosity about the infamously cruel ruler growing. He would have given a lot to have stayed and seen her meeting with him. He could only guess in the speed, which was required to redress in something appropriate and _Japanese_ rather than a modified nun's habit in black.

But his eyes opened staring up at the ceiling, already darkness began its reign as the last dregs of the sun sank into the borders of the sky. The book had slipped from his lap onto the floor, the pages wrinkled. Ulquiorra straightened from the reclining position his body had fallen into.

_Three different scenes he'd witnessed this time_, he mused. It was almost amazing considering the young boy's lack of teaching-he suspected-the amount of talent needed to transform that blank canvas into what is was today, an extremely lifelike portrait that was very near to mirroring the real subject. Or the real subject as he envisioned her, he had to remind himself.

_It could have been all coincidence that he knew the name of the Kuchiki servant and guessed_…he scowled to himself. That was a lie. Whatever was occurring was not his mind recycling images and centering the drama around it. _They were real dammit! She was real_! _As real as_…

~*~

AN: I'm sleepy. :) Thanks for reading and reviews are appreciated.

Note: The words in Japanese that Rukia was reciting are the opening lines to the Our Father prayer. I got it off the wiki ;) since Latin wouldn't have been too commonplace there.


	4. Chapter 4

The sound of the slap resounded in his ears.

Red flushed pale skin like a bruise, she started back.

The man before her sneered words.

Promising their fall.

_Only he could've saved them from condemnation. _

Boldly she stared him down, knowing all was lost.

_The way to salvation was through Christ, the one true God._

The student was gratified to see the effect her declaration had on the imposing man arrayed in handsome robes, silver hair in a queue. History had been kind to him, softening the harsh cruelty he dealt to the masses. _It wasn't fair_. The man was glorified while his victims were seen as little more than historical annotations.

This wasn't fair. Ulquiorra gripped his fists at his sides, longing with a fervor that overcame his passionless exterior to rip the decorated Katana from the man's waist and cut him down. _But it was all for not_; _no one could see him standing by her_. Those narrowed red eyes slit-like challenged the young woman and _not the student_. Rukia stood her ground and Ichimaru left without another look back.

She collapsed the moment he was gone. Her hands so fine wrenched now at her shorned hair, trembling at what she had done. The student's heart ached to see her anguish, his hand of its own accord rose and extended to her, fingers ghosting through the corporeal flesh of the girl. Rukia looked up startled; _she had felt that._

The maid's abrupt, harried entrance through the open door, severed any hope of things changing. She had felt his touch but in the end could not see him no more than hear his words or feel his presence at her side.

Soldiers of the Daimyo were coming.

_Word had come that Father Ukitake and her Lady Aunt had been detained under charges of practicing the forbidden religion_. Orihime was shaking, she was begging her mistress to flee. Calm, though she had paled upon the news of her aunt, Rukia laid aside the girl's beseeching hands. _She wouldn't try to run and show cowardice. That was what __he __expected of her. Instead she would attend to everything the way she always had. Except_...

His eyes closed to the darkened room.

"Renounce your faith. Claim you were coerced by me!"

_Trying to save another from the doom that awaited them all. _

She gave no thought to her own life.

Orihime refused as well.

Fate was sealed.

And he could do nothing but watch them suffer in silence.

~*~

The stamping of horses far away brought only the slightest flicker of emotion to her face.

Orihime had stayed outside to confront them.

She turned away from the fragile doors, gathering her skirts to hand and assumed a position of veneration for the image of the Virgin. Ulquiorra watched her lips remain immobile, the long strand of rosary beads trailing along the ground. She had no prayers left. No appeal to the Holy one above that had not already been made. All had failed. Nothing was left but death.

Before his eyes, she broke.

Sobbing.

Pleading.

Begging.

She didn't want to die.

Like all when faced with the time of their true demise, life glittered suddenly and all they could do was yearn for it. Resolve was shattered beneath the crushing weight of mortality. Emotion stirred within his breast, he remembered the touch from before and stepped forward, the floor creaked.

She stiffened and slowly looked through tear-filled eyes.

They stared at one another.

Her voice broke the silence.

"Who..who are you?"

~*~

He heard the scream of the servant, the rough voices of men.

They would reach them in a matter of moments.

Knowing all this, the student couldn't speak.

His mind was blank. Numbed to everything but the pale intent face framed by locks of raven hair. "Who are you?! Tell me!" her tone was of a higher pitch, one that he had seen her use when concealing fear.

"A friend." He clasped her shoulders, feeling the insubstantiality of her being.

_So small_.

"Listen, don't be afraid," he didn't know what he was saying, whispering into her ear. Footsteps were outside on the engawa, soon they would enter the main room and only a few more rooms and ...

"...Rukia..." He read the confusion roaring in her violet eyes, his hands slid into hers, clasping them in the briefest grasp. He could feel the reality of her world slipping away and his own stealing into his consciousness.

"You won't be forgotten."

~*~

Sirens erupted.

His eyes opened, moisture pooled beneath them.

Lights flashed by.

He thought he knew their eventual destination but made no move to ascertain it.

The morning would soon come.

~*~

The gilt frame bore few scorch marks, the canvas itself was a ruinous mass of blackened wall. Nothing remained of _her_. The firefighters who had responded to the Two am blaze, had suggested it was as though the fire had started from within.

Arson was ruled out.

Security tapes revealed nothing but smoke suddenly pouring from the painting. Alarms had gone off and the sprinklers were triggered. But it had been too late to save it.

He surveyed the destruction.

"Pity." He was unaware he had spoken aloud until Ukitake replied in a soft tone. "Perhaps not."

The student turned eyes full of curiosity to the older man. He was smiling sadly, "it was most likely what **she** wanted."

"What are--"

"It's not enough to simply view an object and admire it once for its beauty or value. The painting was in essence a piece of history, it _was_ history. It captured a young girl on the cusp of adulthood dedicating herself to a greater cause. They say..." pensive brown eyes traced the line of the frame then lifted and met those of the student. "A photograph captures a part of the soul. Native Americans refused the white men's early photography on that basis, believing that when they died, their souls wouldn't be able to pass on."

_The portrait_...

"Impossible."

..._contained..._

Ukitake frowned, "many things in this world can't be explained and have yet to be. My guess is, is that she was finally liberated from whatever limbo her soul had been trapped in." The teacher shrugged, "but perhaps, I am yet imagining things to suit my own mind. Who knows?" With one last friendly smile and slight shake at the burnt painting, the Professor left him to his thoughts.

_Her soul_.

He had released her. _Somehow. Someway_. His eyes rose to it again, recreating its image in his mind. "You won't be forgotten. " He murmured quietly to himself, never hearing the clack of heels on the tile floor as someone approached.

"Forget who?" questioned an impertinent female voice.

A hint of irritation clouded his expression, he turned to the rude interloper, a girl of diminutive height dressed in jeans and a purple plaid shirt confronted his startled gaze.

"What are you staring at?!"

Dark hair arrayed in a feathered cut. Large violet-blue eyes in a small angular face, pink cupid's bow lips that were drawn up in a frown..._couldn't be_.

_She was the mirror image of_...

"...damn it! And I came all this way just to--"

"See the painting?" He finished.

Her eyes lost some of their coldness, "yes."

"It burned last night."

She scowled, "I can see that."

"Would you consider stepping out with me to the cafe around the corner?" He had nothing left to lose.

Suspicious again, "are you...asking me out?"

"Just for tea. The day is quite cool for the season."

She was smirking slightly now, "do you have an answer for everything?"

A rare smile curved his lips, "not always."

She became thoughtful, "you know...it's odd. You seem so very familiar. Have we met somewhere?"

~Finis~

Note: probably didn't make sense. :p

Rukia's spirit couldn't move on and hence she haunted the painting. When it was destroyed, it was because of what he had told her. She wouldn't be forgotten and once the painting burned-the symbol of all that had happened-she was freed.

Finally done! Yay!

Thanks for reading.

No flames-stupid comments-idiotic spammers!

Reviews are always appreciated. :)


End file.
